The Amended Secret Journal of Mason Grey Eckhart
by Dark Mirage1
Summary: Additional material has been graciously made available by the Eckhart Literary Society, allowing the release of a more complete journal, and a deeper understanding of MGE.
1. Chapter 1

The Secret Journal of Mason Grey Eckhart.doc5

"Mason, I worry about you."

Coming from Laura Varady, I knew the statement was sincere. Other people at Genomex might try to fawn over me to gain favor, but Laura was not one of them. She could retire any time she pleased. She stayed on at Genomex as site psychologist because she wanted to.

"I'm fine, Dr Varady."

"No, you're not. Look at this office!"

"What is wrong with my office?"

"It's emotionally chilling."

"I like it."

"All this brushed stainless steel and hard edges…this probably depresses and intimidates anyone who comes to talk to you!"

"I hope so." I smiled slightly.

"Mason! You need to connect with your emotions!"

"I cannot exactly shed them, you know."

"I'm giving you a project for your own good: I want you to keep a daily journal."

When Laura is like this, it is not worth trying to argue with her. So it is that I have started this journal.

_Genomex-by-the-Waters_

_Thursday, 28 September 2006_

**Thursday 28 September 2006**

Well. Here I am. Now, what do I write about? Of course I have set this up so that it is encrypted and no one else can access it except me. I don't even know why I would want to read it.

What did I do today?

I have given much thought to the impression I want GS field agents to give to the public at large. They should look businesslike and professional, but not at all flashy or expensively dressed. They should not draw attention to themselves. The clothes should suit a wide range of ages.

After much searching, I found a catalogue of men's clothing of the most unrelentingly bland styles possible! Just the thing needed by GS agents! I'll limit style and color choices to keep my troops looking similar without putting them into uniforms!

I am doing some of these characters a service in teaching them how to dress, because their mommies and daddies failed to do so! I've seen them show up for academy classes wearing baseball caps turned backwards or sideways! Jeans with the 'waist' slung so low their underwear is displayed! Che Guevara t-shirts! They probably think he was a rock star and know nothing about the murderous thug he actually was.

I think I'm going to enjoy telling the recruits about the GSA haircut policy (from which I am of course, exempt) during a class late today. Anyone I catch whining I will send out for a 3 mile jog, no matter what the weather!

I have no idea what do about outfitting the women…

**Friday 29 September 2006**

If I had 200 people as dedicated and energetic as Laura Varady, I could clear up this mutant mess in 6 months or less.

As long as I've known her, Laura gets to work early every day, as I do. Well, I have little choice; I live here. This morning was no different save that she came to my office before going to hers. My own guards (!) allow her to enter my office unannounced. Most people find it impossible to say 'no' to Laura because she is so well-meaning and genuine. So, in she strolls.

"Good morning, Mason! I brought you a surprise!"

I looked up from my review of overnight email and reports. Laura was pulling a child's little red wagon. I had a wagon like that once long ago…

"Good morning, Dr Varady. What have you got there?"

She bent over and lifted a potted plant from the wagon, smiling.

"Your office is just too grim. Green, living, growing plants will make you feel better about everything. Studies have proven the value of plants in windowless spaces like this."

She pulled the wagon towards my desk, depositing a feathery, ferny-looking plant with small, faintly pink flowers at the front of the desk, and placing the others along the back wall.

"There!"

"You're very thoughtful, but I'm afraid I'm likely to forget to water them."

Laura smiled. "Not to worry! I plan to water, feed, and groom them as needed. You won't have to do anything with them except enjoy them. Already, things look livelier in here.

She was correct.

"Thank you, Dr Varady."

"You're welcome. On Monday, I'll bring some more." She glanced at her watch. "Oops, gotta go. I have an early appointment."

And off she went, pulling her little red wagon behind her.

**Saturday 30 September 2006**

All week long, Genomex is like a human hive, with lots of activity & I hope, productivity starting at about 5.30 in the morning continuing until 7.30 in the evening. Some people are here for all of those hours.

On weekends, it's quite different. A few people come in on Saturdays, but most of them are gone by 3 PM. On Sundays, it's nearly always only the security staff and me.

This makes Saturday evening/Saturday night the best time of the week to go prowling about Genomex and uncover its secrets. Genomex is full of secrets.

From the beginning, Breedlove kept every scrap of paper, every lab notebook, every printout, every inch of videotape, every disk, every hard drive and reel of magnetic tape. Habits from the old country inculcated by his teachers, I suppose. Adam had the same habits, and their staffs were mandated to follow the same procedures.

This resulted in a mountain of documentation. Over the last 15 years, I've troubled to go through every banker's box of it. I don't understand the fine points of the science, of course, but there is more present than technical minutiae.

I know more about the conduct of the work here—the often questionable ethics of Breedlove, and later of Adam—than probably anyone else.

Genomex was out of control from the start.

I am surprised Paul preserved some items, such as his Hitler Youth paperwork. Alone, it proves nothing, but with the attached photographs, Kurt von Schuler Paul Breedlove. This material is not saved in the archives any longer; I'm taking special care of it myself. You never know when something of that nature could prove highly useful.

**Sunday 1 October 2006**

I've had a pleasant, _quiet_ weekend all by myself. It seems such a shame to ruin things with everyone returning to work tomorrow.

**Monday 2 October 2006**

The first class of the Genetic Security Agency Academy will be graduating shortly, and I have started interviewing the most promising of the soon-to-be-agents for leadership positions. I am pleased that so many of this initial class are themselves 'Children of Genomex'. They bring needed understanding of mutancy and the potential problems the Genomex mutants pose to the larger society.

Adam has been making a pest of himself since 1998 with his mutant squads, indulging in near-criminal actions and spreading his own fanciful propaganda. The deluded souls who believe in him are convinced he is the selfless savior of mutants, when he is the one overwhelmingly responsible for the creation of them. I am also guessing that he is continuing his experimentation and studies on these people.

I must honestly say that the tale he has chosen to tell is admirably constructed to appeal to ill-informed romantics: brilliant, high-minded scientist is deceived for 20 years? about the application of his researches. When at last he realizes that an evil, profit-seeking corporation has been using him, he 'escapes', dedicating energies and life to the 'rescue' of mutants, setting up 'safehouses' and sending 'saved' mutants off into the 'underground'. _Adam, champion and savior of the Children of Genomex_.

As stories go, it is effective with many people, given the prevalence of anti-technology, anti-corporation sentiment in this society. Rather than become well-informed and acquire rudimentary knowledge of genetics, it is easier to fear what is not understood, and make a virtue of ignorance.

Very soon now, I will have agents to counter Adam's merry bands of criminals.

One of the fellows I interviewed this morning was particularly impressive. Frank Thorne has consistently achieved high scores in all of his academic training, firing range scores, and written exams covering elementary biology. He has impressed me as purposeful, even driven. Thorne is a telekinetic, one of the handful of mutants created by Breedlove (with Eleanor Singer's assistance, of course) in the early 1970s.

**Tuesday 3 October 2006**

Laura Varady _refused_ to meet with me in my office this afternoon.

"Your office is too damn cold, Mason, and I left my parka, mukluks and thermal underwear at home today. We'll chat in my office, in a climate survivable by the human species."

She smiled as she spoke. My office _was_ a few degrees colder than usual, but of course I would never admit _that_ to anyone except the crew responsible for heating and cooling onsite.

Seated amidst her African violets and crayon masterpieces of her grandchildren, Laura began directly with her concerns. She was a sweet, charming individual, but she possessed as well the admirable habit of not wasting anyone's time, including her own.

"I was alarmed by your choice of Frank Thorne for promotion."

"Why?"

"In succinct but unprofessional terms, he's crazy."

"I did not notice anything peculiar about him."

"That's because every Friday he's supplied with fresh medication patch of potent anti-psychotics."

"Medication patch?"

"Yes. Do you know what his classmates call him?"

"No idea."

"Mad Dog Thorne."

"_Mad Dog Thorne?"_

"As in Mad Pit Bull."

"And they say this because?"

"He enjoys violence. He enjoys hurting people, Mason."

"But he does everything…so well."

"I would not turn my back on him. I'd find an excuse to have his governor monitored and checked daily, in addition to his medication."

"That bad?"

"That bad. He is extremely dangerous."

Laura Varady did not exaggerate.

_Briefly, I imagined Frank Thorne's head on the body of a pit bull, wearing a leather collar with spikes_…

"Thorne is at the top of his class."

"Mason, if you insist upon using him, I urge you to keep my precautions in mind and to keep Thorne on a short leash."

**Wednesday 4 October 2006**

I took a stroll through accounting first thing this morning before anyone could be completely awake. What they do there I find stupefying boring, but my wandering through every corner of Genomex keeps everyone alert. Paul has become so reclusive and uninvolved in daily operations that some of the newer employees have never seen him.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thursday 5 October 2006**

It's that time of year again. With the appearance of the first string of pumpkin-shaped lights, I know we are headed into The Holiday Season. Things will not be normal around here until the first week in January.

A jolly ghoulette in Human Resources beat Laura this year in hanging the first of the pumpkin lights.

Perhaps I should stay in my office more.

**Friday 6 October 2006**

I discovered Paul's hiding place today. He's hardly ever in his office, and no one seems to know where he hides, or even if he was on site. He has a hidey hole down in the Archives, surrounded by shelf upon loaded shelf of hard copy records of his work over the past 55 years.

He has an ancient jukebox loaded with equally antique 45 rpm records, a lava lamp, and a _typewriter._ I did not think there was a typewriter left at Genomex.

**Saturday 7 October 2006**

Inspiration!

Maybe it had something to so with re-watching the Sheena movie with the Arabian horse painted to look like a zebra, but I awoke this morning inspired with the design of a wig with a completely different look: zebra stripes!

**Sunday 8 October 2006**

Rummaged through the personnel records to check up on a few things.

**Monday 9 October 2006**

I faxed my sketch and wig description for the Very Special Zebra Wig to my wigmaker. Within 10 minutes, he called me back.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, of course."

"I just wanted to be certain before we made it and billed you."

"I appreciate the consideration."

"Well, 'tis the season, after all. We'll get to work on it right away so you will have it in plenty of time."

"Thank you."

But I was uncertain exactly _what_ I was thanking him for, or what season he had in mind. Zebra season? Could there be such a thing, except among lions?

I spent much of the day reviewing reports about Tricorps Botanicals. Information about Tricorps has been hard to come by, and once in hand, often contradictory.

My technical people say _some_ of the Tricorps work would be a good fit and complementary to our programs. Other portions of their research, I'm told, are either of no value to us or anyone else, and the pursuit of such work by Tricorps was puzzling.

Tricorps founder, Dr Kenneth Harrison (who represents himself variously as a botanist, geneticist or medical doctor!) gives the impression of being something of a character. Unrelated to any Tricorps research, Harrison has a personal hobby of raising carnivorous plants.

Should Genomex acquire Tricorps, Harrison would be part of the deal.

When asked about Tricorps' financial status, the accounting people became nervous and squirmed. One fellow who thought I was not watching rolled his eyes. I then heard about 25 minutes of mind-numbing financial jargon.

"So, what you are saying is that Tricorps' books reflect inspired creativity?"

"Yes."

Financial headaches I can do without and a nerd who grows plants that consume living creatures I can do without. I have to look into how quickly I could sell off the pieces of Tricorps with the look of nothing but trouble.

Carnivorous plants…

**Tuesday 10 October 2006**

Someone in Shipping and Receiving has a candy dish of unwrapped candy corn sitting out on their desk! At least the dish has a cover, but all day long people reach in with their hands, and inevitably touch kernels someone else will ultimately eat.

The thought is sufficient to make me queasy. I think I will take a long lunch and lie down in the dark for a while until my stomach settles.

**Wednesday 11 October 2006**

I received a brief –very brief—email today from Nicole carter indicating that the last of the mess Nexxogen made earlier is cleaned up, and that the site is once again entirely presentable.

When the decontamination began, I asked exactly how the process was being done. She turned her back on me, and walked away, saying, "You don't want to know."

One always hears stories about rogue corporations burying the worst of their industrial accidents to avoid paying settlements to the survivors and to avoid the attention and fines of regulatory agencies. I have come to believe these stories are like urban legends: there is never a specific corporation or date, and the industrial processes are never described.

Martez was real enough. I was surprised by Paul's casual acceptance of events; in terms of public relations, it was a near-disaster for Genomex.

Under-sized pumpkins are appearing on desktops everywhere on site. Probably no one bothers to wash them before bringing them into the building. The little orange orbs probably have a small but finite amount of soil still adhering to them.

I tried to ban this nasty vegetation years ago, but Dr Varady insisted that such personal displays were important to employee morale…and there is the fact that Laura grows miniature pumpkins. She'll have two or three dozen of them in her office any day now.

**Thursday 12 October 2006**

Sat down and took a long look at the Eleanor Singer Memorial Fountain this morning, and wondered if there was a company that would remove this eyesore in return for keeping the metal as scrap.

No normal child ever looks as manic as those in the fountain's statuary. They are children out of a nightmare.

As long as Paul is here, the fountain is not going anywhere, I'm afraid.

**Friday 13 October 2006**

My lucky day.

I found a good deal on ever-so-slightly used trench coats. There are only three or four styles, so all of my agents will look somewhat alike. Since the entire GSA development was funded as a 'black project', no one will seriously scrutinize expenses, but expenditures go over budget, I may have difficulty slipping another few million past Paul without questions. Wherever possible, I have cut expenses, using items like the slightly worn CIA trench coats.

I contacted the FAA about Adam's 'stealth' aircraft. It may have stealth characteristics, but what it does not have is proper markings. The FAA frowns upon this. They also frown upon anyone darting through airspace frequented by commercial traffic. Adam's plane may be stealthy, but it still has substance. A mid-air collision with it will be no less disastrous. Then, there is the matter of his low-level operations. The people I spoke with at the FAA said the information solved several puzzling questions.

As a result, Adam may find himself sharing the sky with fighter planes tasked to possibly bring down unmarked aircraft in urban spaces…

Just as his cars without license plates draw more attention than those bearing standard plates, Adam's unmarked, unregistered aircraft draws a lot of attention, and brings trouble, including the possibility of getting blown out of the sky.

How unfortunate that would be.

**Saturday 14 October 2006**

This morning I discovered that someone's 'cute' little desk pumpkin had begun the descent from sound, whole vegetation to compost.

I had two security people carry away the corpse and clean fluids from the desktop while I penned a note to the owner strongly suggesting that this _never_ happen again.

**Sunday 15 October 2006**

To minimize the disruption of my work routine, the antiseptic misting solution system is being installed in my office today. Located in the ceiling, several hundred tubes will dispense a fine mist of the in-house Genomex antiseptic. So far, this material has killed every single-cell organism and every virus particle in trials.

The marketing group is looking into the possibility of consumer sales.


	3. Chapter 3

**Monday 16 October 2006  
**

There are days when I wish I could resign, retire to Belize, and forget about mutants, Paul Breedlove, Adam, all of it.

One irritating event after another came my way today, with the day-ending finale of the delivery of trenchcoats for the GS agents. Unfortunately, they were all in…children's sizes.

**Tuesday 17 October 2006**

Laura Varady dropped by the office bright and early today.

"Good morning, Mason. My, you look depressed. What's wrong?"

Just like that, it all came out with no hesitation. How can she tell when I'm depressed? Everybody else thinks I am in a vile mood all of the time, whether I am or not, which is useful for keeping away people with frivolous concerns.

I _was_ depressed—but how did she know?

"I am fine, Dr Varady."

"And pigs fly. Your stoicism is admirable after my Monday filled with whiney employees who perceive themselves as victims, but you cannot go on internalizing everything. Would you sign this?"

She handed me a purchase order form for a massive quantity of candy.

"What is this?"

"Halloween. After the negative publicity Genomex has received this year, I thought it might just be wise to hand out candy at the guard house to all of the neighborhood kiddies."

"The past nine months have been trying."

That was an understatement. During the past nine months Genomex had weathered a nitrogen release (the gas is inert and was never a hazard to anyone, but video images of a cloud of gas spewing from an outdoor storage tank taped from helicopters filled local tv screens for days, a huge fishkill (not even our fault, but ultimately traced to illegally dumped hazardous waste a quarter mile east, but the carpeting of our shoreline with wall to wall dead fish with Genomex in the background is the image most people saw and will remember), and then there was the invasion of the spiders from Hell…furry-looking monsters that were typically not smaller than 5 inches across. These things hatched by the millions and moved off into the surrounding neighborhood. The anomalous arachnids _were_ our fault, but we admitted nothing.

As I said, they hatched by the millions. What a mess they made of the parking lot access road each morning and evening with the passage of many cars flattening many spiders.

"We should try to be better corporate neighbors."

"Do you really think stuffing every child within a mile with sugar and chocolate will change any minds?"

"It cannot hurt."

As I signed the document, I said, "I think it might be more effective to put a psychoactive drug in the neighborhood drinking water to make all of the adults mellow, calm, and unconcerned about whatever happens." I handed back the form.

"That isn't funny, Mason."

_Of course_ I was joking. Treating the water would be too expensive. But how could she _tell_ I was joking?

**Wednesday 18 October 2006**

I noticed this afternoon that one of the plants has yellowing leaves that have begun dropping off.

**Thursday 19 October 2006**

About 2.30 PM I took a stroll through the research labs and was surprised to hear…singing. Some of the technical people here are markedly eccentric, but I have been assured that they are all quite harmless.

I followed the sound of singing to a conference room and stood outside listening. Fortunately, Dr Shah emerged from one of her labs.

"Excuse me, Dr Shah…but what are they singing in there?"

The question surprised her.

"Why, they're practicing pumpkin carols, Mr Eckhart. I'm told they are an American tradition."

"Pumpkin carols…thank you, Dr Shah."

I did not want to know any more, so I turned and hurried back to my office, cutting through hallways leading past more labs. If I had not taken this usually untrodden route, I would not have had the experience of seeing Dr Mayakovsky taping a string of pumpkin lights around the inside frame of his office door. He was too busy spreading pumpkiny joy to notice me.

**Friday 20 October 2006**

Unseasonably warm, pleasant weather today, so after working hours I took a stroll along the shoreline. I was pleased to discover that the fishkill cleanup must be nearly complete since I detected only the faintest whiff of reeking rotten fish.

**Saturday 21 October 2006**Decided closet needed straightening badly. Spent the morning re-arranging shirts, jackets, slacks, gloves. Replaced all white hangers (pitched 'em) with black hangers.

Moved black shirts from the right to the far left. Moved slacks to the middle. Placed jackets on the right depending upon the width of the stripes, fine stripes to the left, wider stripes to the right.

Made tidy stacks of black gloves in pairs.

Combed out my three dozen sets of white wigs. Briefly pondered when the zebra wig will arrive, and whether or not it would work with the pinstripes.

Was exhausted when all of this was done but with a feeling of considerable accomplishment. Took a nice nap. Feeling organized and prepared to deal with my jackass lackeys on Monday.

**Sunday 22 October 2006**

Re-read latest psych reports on Thorne.

**Monday 23 October 2006**

Woke up late, which was bad enough, only to find the wretched slugs who are supposed to be keeping up with my supply of skin hadn't replenished my stock. Will have to remember to breeze through Bio-Polymers section unexpectedly, and flash my "shark-eye" at all of them.

When I walked in late on the weekly Monday morning meeting, the laughter died down suddenly. I wonder why they won't share the jokes with me? I could have used a good laugh after the way the day started.

At least my closet was organized, and even though I had to walk around in old polymers until nearly noon, I was able to get dressed in a flash.

**Tuesday 24 October 2006**

Dr Varady insists that the subdermal thorazine patches used on Thorne have limited usefulness because Thorne metabolizes the antipsychotic faster than a typical human.

That's a pity. Having Thorne available would be like having a starving, unmannered pit bull to threaten enemies with. Sometimes, nothing else will do; Thorne is so obviously on the edge of rationality.

However, Thorne is high maintenance. He requires flattery to be managed well, and as Dr Varady advised after the test for metabolites of thorazine made obvious that the drug wasn't really controlling him, I rarely speak or deal with Thorne without keeping one hand, just out of sight, on his governor controller. There is no telling when he may feign a submissive attitude only to turn upon me.**Wednesday 25 October 2006** If only my employees knew the sacrifices I make to keep Genomex the kind of place that it is. I would never burden them with such tales, besides it's none of their business, it's mine.

Note to self: get Human Resources to commence a search for the replacement of the gigglers down in Bio-Polymers. Giggling really annoys me. It is legal to not hire gigglers? Or to ask in an interview whether one giggles? Get Security to put up cameras/microphones in Bio-Polymers Autoclave Room, tap into all appropriate email and phones, and find and document reasons for firing these clowns, who give science a frivolous name.

How can I save humanity with such people working for me?

Come to think of it, if memory serves me correctly, Adam giggles.


End file.
